


Complicated

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Gapfillerpalooza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-27
Updated: 2004-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I briefly consider heading back to the loft, where at least there is a willing ass waiting for me.  Then I remember that said ass comes with a gym bag full of clothes from The Gap, a well-worn copy of <i>The Yellow Submarine</i>, and an essay on <i>The Great Gatsby</i> due in two days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complicated

**Author's Note:**

> Episode 109  
> Written for "Gapfillerpalooza"

I intend to stop by the diner for a turkey melt and some fries, and fuck the no carbs after seven rule. Working 12 hour days on some bullshit Kitty Love litter campaign for Marty Ryder permits me some leeway in that department. If it wasn't for the promise of partnership looming when the quarterly results come in, I'd tell him to kiss my ass and he knows it.

I slide a hand along my shirt as I wait at the light, smoothing out a wrinkle. Thank fuck I started keeping a change of clothes at the office. A quick bite, then a side-trip to Babylon where a few drinks and an eager mouth will wash away the lingering memory of smiling, singing cartoon cats.

Yet somehow when the light turns green, I turn right instead of left and end up at Woody's, downing a Becks, watching the guys play pool, and listening to Ted philosophizing about the air speed velocity of the eight-ball while Mikey moons over the doc.

Christ, Wednesday nights are usually slow, but sure as fuck I can do better than this.

I briefly consider heading back to the loft, where at least there is a willing ass waiting for me. Then I remember that said ass comes with a gym bag full of clothes from The Gap, a well-worn copy of _The Yellow Submarine_, and an essay on _The Great Gatsby_ due in two days.

My life never used to be this fucking complicated.

I shake my head and concentrate on needling Michael about Doctor Dave's friends, or lack thereof.

"Yeah, sure he has friends," Michael insists. I picture a series of cryogenic tubes neatly stacked in Dave's walk-in closet, each one with a tastefully designed label so he knows which one to deactivate when the need arises. 'The Professor'. 'The Stockbroker'. 'The Systems Analyst'. Shit.

"Have you ever met any?" I ask, already sure of the answer.

"No."

"Maybe he doesn't want you to."

I see the hurt flicker in Mikey's eyes, but it's for the best. I'm sick of this asshole treating him like his ten-dollar piece on the side. Mikey deserves better than that. And if he can't see that, it's up to me to show him. Unfortunately, further lessons are curtailed when my own piece of all-too-accommodating ass slides up to the pool table, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Hey there." Justin is all wide smiles and sparkling eyes and I don't know whether to kiss him or push him out the door.

"Well... at least his friends are his _own age_," Mikey snipes. I bite my tongue on the snippy rejoinder that comes to mind. Because you can't fuck a guy several times a day for two weeks and not form at least a grudging friendship. So I concentrate on Justin instead.

"What are you doing here? I thought it was a school night." I hear the words coming out of my mouth, but I still can't believe I just said them. Inwardly I curse Jennifer Taylor. If she had the balls to get rid of her homophobic prick of a husband, I wouldn't be stuck sounding like a character from some twisted fag-friendly After School Special.

Justin just shrugs. "You're here."

Yes, because I needed the reminder that I have a lapdog who'll follow me everywhere, nipping at my heels. I raise my beer and remind him, "I'm a grown up."

"Barely," he snarks.

"Go. Home."

"Nooooooo," he says, wiggling his eyebrows and smiling and snapping a condom between his teeth before he spins on his heel and glides away from the table, deliberately sashaying his hips. Little fucker.

"So what is this, Adopt-A-Trick?" Mikey whines from beside me. "First he's a one-night stand. Now he's moved in."

I flick my eyes away from Justin's tempting ass to momentarily focus on Michael. "It's only temporary."

"Until he grows up?"

"Until I figure out what to do with him."

And as Mikey gathers up his shit and leaves, and Ted and Emmett banter over missed shots, and I slide off my jacket and pick up a cue and take Mikey's place at the table, I find my eyes straying back to Justin. What am I going to do with him? It's been several weeks and only the usual stuff has come to mind, albeit with interesting variations on a theme. Last night's fuck on the counter was particularly inspired, considering the number of kitchen implements I was able to incorporate. Christ, I can still hear Justin's moans as he thrust back against me, taste the sweat that pooled on his skin...

Fuck. I shift against the twitching of my cock and line up an easy shot. Across the room, Justin laughs, a sound of surprise, and my cue only grazes the ball and the shot goes awry. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

I step back to let Theodore make a fool of himself, and find my eyes again searching the room. Find Justin leaning against the bar, talking to some dark-haired guy in denim. Justin's face is upturned, smiling at something the trick is saying.

Little shit shouldn't even be here. I told him when he moved in that there were rules, and I sure as fuck don't need his ice-queen of a mother on my doorstep nagging me about her precious son not getting enough sleep or turning in sloppy assignments or some shit.

The trick turns to motion Justin toward the bathroom, and I get a good look at his face. My grip involuntarily tightens on the pool cue. Danny or Denny or something like that, new in town. I had him last week at the baths and he was an arrogant shithead. And he's already building a reputation as an aggressive top -- too fucking aggressive.

Justin glances back over his shoulder to make sure Danny/Denny is following. His eyes are sparkling, even from here I can see it. He has no fucking idea.

I slump back against the wall and lean my head on the rough brick. Serves him right. Come in acting like the cock-of-the-walk and you're going to get fucked.

I push away from the wall and rejoin the boys.

"...and I was thinking of the aqua leather, because that will really accentuate my hips," Emmett is saying.

Danny's also getting a reputation for not taking No or Stop or Fuck-That-Hurts for an answer.

"One should never wear aqua after Labour Day. It's in the Queer Handbook." Ted looks toward me for confirmation, and I just stare blankly at him. Seriously, what the fuck? Ted sighs. "It's your shot," he tells me.

I'm a good top -- the best top -- because I know there's a... a fucking responsibility to being in control of the play. A responsibility to know how far one can go. And Justin knows that he can always stop it. With me, he can always stop.

"Brian?"

I blink and blindly shove my pool cue toward Emmett. "Gotta take a piss," I mumble as I stalk toward the bathroom.

* * *

The fluorescents are harsh after the subdued lighting of the bar, and I blink a couple of times as the door swishes silently closed behind me.

Danny has Justin flush against the wall, one knee thrust between his legs, his head dipped to gnaw on Justin's neck, his fingers digging into Justin's biceps. Justin's eyes are closed, his hands clenched at his sides. Jesus Christ.

I clear my throat and Justin's eyes fly open. He raises his hands and pushes against the trick's chest, once, then twice, and finally the fucker lifts his head. Red marks pulse against the pale skin of Justin's collarbone. I clench my jaw and roll my shoulders and try to remember that this should be Justin's call, and if Justin wants this Neanderthal to fuck him then I should just walk away.

Except Justin is mine. He's been mine since the night he forced me to claim him on the dance floor. He's mine in the way that Mikey is mine, and Lindsay is mine.

Nobody fucks with what's mine.

I keep my eyes steadily on his and my voice deceptively soft. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Uhh..." Justin's eyes dart around the room nervously before coming back to land on mine. "Brian, do you know Dante?"

Dante. Whatever. My eyes flick dismissively to the trick before resting again on Justin. "I've had the displeasure. He's got a small dick and the brain to match."

That gets the asshole's attention. "Fuck you, Kinney," he snarls, whirling around to face me like I knew he would. And letting go of Justin, like I knew he would. I catch sight of Justin's hand rubbing absently at his arm and wonder if he'll have bruises tomorrow.

"Justin," I say sharply, not taking my eyes from Dante. "Go get your jacket and wait in the jeep."

Dante barks out a harsh laugh. "You pulling babysitting duties now, Kinney?"

The kid hasn't moved. "Justin," I say again.

"No," he finally answers, and I glance back to see Justin standing with his arms crossed rebelliously.

Jesus, my life definitely never used to be this complicated.

"You got your answer," Dante sneers, starting to turn back to Justin. "Shove off. I saw him first. _Capice_?"

I move quickly, grabbing him and spinning him toward the counter, his arm trapped behind his back, my forearm pressing on his windpipe and his forehead crushed to the mirror before he can so much as breathe. I lean against his back, my mouth inches from his ear. "Listen to me," I say. "Are you listening?"

I take his strangled wheeze for assent.

"You ever touch him again, and I will personally tie your balls into a neat little bowtie around your neck. _Capice_?"

Again with the wheeze.

I give Dante's neck a final squeeze for good measure before letting him go. He stumbles backwards, coughing. "You're fucking insane," he manages after a moment. I mime tying a perfect knot around my neck and he shakes his head and flees out the door.

"I _cannot_ believe you just did that."

I turn back to Justin, who's glaring at me. Fucking glaring at me, the little shit. "Saved your ass?"

"Who I fuck is my business," he says indignantly. "And I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

I just stare at him, and after a moment his eyes drop and he fumbles with the condom still clenched in his hand. Then he lifts his chin, and though his words are defiant, his tone is plaintive. "_You_ can fuck whoever you want."

I wait a beat, two, three, then nod. "That's right."

And see comprehension dawn.

"Now get your jacket and go wait in the jeep."

He nods slowly, and pauses on the way to the door to touch my arm. "Brian?"

"Go, Justin."

He goes. But I stand for another moment, staring at my reflection. I scrub a hand across my face.

If he's going to be trolling for tricks, we're going to need to have a discussion about warning signs. Safe venues. Ways to protect himself that aren't made of latex.

But that can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, we will deal with dinner. And homework. The boring and the mundane.

Shit that isn't so fucking complicated.


End file.
